


At Least once Let Me reach You

by not_all_who_wander_are_ohwaitshit



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brother Complex, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Sexual Tension, fingolfin and his many MANY regrets, fingolfin through the ages, fingolfin tried, fëanor is still an ass, he tried so very hard, high king of the noldor, implied russingon, mention of main characters deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_all_who_wander_are_ohwaitshit/pseuds/not_all_who_wander_are_ohwaitshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Facing Morgoth Fingolfin realizes, his real battle had started long before - For the second son of Finwë shall await the moment in which his older brother´s fire won´t burn him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least once Let Me reach You

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday present for dear soraniizu (tumblr) <33

****

_It was all lightless and cold, unkindness, around them. The smoked sky, the taste in the air, thick and sick with malaise. Even the ground seemed to emanate a certain amount of moisture, desesperate for any short of sustain to absorb  /_ Them _/_

_No source of joy was to be found. There haven´t been any for a long, long time._

_He wonders now, when had he grown used to it?_

_The road ahead was dark. So dark and thick he felt like the mouse running into the dead end. /_ Oh but this mouse will bite back, I assure you _/_

The only source of real **light**  in this God´s forsaken land was **Fëanaro** ´s.

_That was the only fact that had remained as truth in both places._

* * *

He was very beautiful, his older brother. Bright and outstanding in a palace already full of lovely things.

With dark hair cascading over his back, and the richest silks framing a strong, well-built body and handsome face. He was _beautiful_ , Fingolfin has always thought so.

Beautiful, in the mystyfying ways the first rays of Laurelin were.

He tried to tell him once. When he was young not even twelve, all nervously sweaty clumsy and awkward.

Fëanaro had been young then, but not so much as him and over Fingolfin he towered over as any other adult.

He had one day, in one of those precious moments in which the two of them, as by fate, had been together and alone, with no father and no _mother_ and no apparent thing Fingolfin had touched or manhandled or stared at in a way it had made his brother mad. In those special moments in which his sibling seemed to tolerate he and him breathing in the same room.

“ I think you are beautiful brother” He had said, grabbing Fëanaro by the tip of his long, _red_ , robes.

He continued, fast and tongue-tied, because he knew the other´s startling was an advantage.

“ You are beautiful, and I love it and, and-….And this circlet you are always wearing? I love it too, I love it when you wear it! “ Everything came out in a rush, barely making sense even to himself. He hoped he had made his point come across though, he needed to.

_His brother has to **know**_

His cheeks felt like burning crimson, like that one time his brother slapped him , jockingly of course , when mother wasn´t looking. And even though he hadn´t been able to look at his older brother´s face when he was speaking, afraid for his expression, now he seeked it.

And he felt only overwhelming relief, when the deep frown and the wrinkled nose he had half-expected to see were not there, on their place, the most disarmed reaction he had ever seen on Curufinwë´s.

He really looked out of place, each fiver of his body tensed under the elfling´s grip, like he didn´t quite decided if he either wished to flee or rather stay. Deep breathing and silver eyes shining and unblinking, looking straight at Nolofinwë as if he just realized that there was a “ _Finwë_ ” in that name too.

Fingolfin blushed, over excited by his response, or lack of it to be more exact. But which was all in all, still better than a negative.

He felt a little bit braver then, and thus, decided continuing was worth a shot.

“ It…..it compliments your eyes” he finished, smile bright and revering.

But he always ends up messing things up, and again he must have done it. Because right then the gleam on Curufinwë´s gaze had turned cold, and hard. The thin line of his full lips far too severe not to be a real, genuine short of disgust.

Violently had he taken away the child smaller hands, almost making him fall from the motion, and only a last loathing glance did he gifted him before parting.

_“ Do **not** ever, disgrace me with such speech **again** ”_

Then Fëanaro left the room, the metalic clanck of his , now, _discarded_ circlet on the floor his farewell.

Beautiful, in the dangerous ways  the flames eating the wood of the homely fireplace were. Marvelous on the outside, but if you were to approach too much _……they will burn you._

Fingolfin never tried again.

* * *

Looking ahead was easy, simple, something mechanic time has forced him to learn.

Looking back though, was not as simple. And once he felt brave enough, his sight was full of faces of colleages, and followers. The countenace of those who he was proud, and grateful to still call friends.

The nearest to him, were the visages of his family, his sons, his children.

And even though everything he is about to do scream of _courage_. He swears he don´t feel brave enough to continue gazing far ahead. For he can see the very same darkness from the road, and from the fortress and from this cursed land, on their faces.

He should say something, he thinks. He knows, yet when he tries to speak he feels the moisture choking him.

 ** _Fëanaro_** would have said something. _Fëanaro_ would have brought to life a speech so intense the spirit of his people would have been ignited even at the very Gates of the very Angband.

But he was not Curufinwë, and all his burning _rage_ Nolofinwë has always carried it buried inside.

_What am I even doing?_

* * *

Ever since he had been a child. _Everything_ has been about **Fëanaro**.

Soon Nolofinwë learned, everything he attempted to do, Curufinwë could do better.

Either be fighting, exercising, studying, social relationships or _dressing up_.

Such was the antagonism, that once during one of their Father´s begetting days, after Fingolfin presented his gift to Father. A great poem in which he had invested weeks of work, not stopping until he had deemed it to be perfect, worthy enough of the High King of the Noldor.

Right after Fingolfin song his construction to the whole family with no little amount of pride. Feänor has chosen to present his (there had been no fight for the first position, which was in itself, unusual).

Right after Finwë had smiled, satisfaction and  love on his countenance. Just then the first son of the king had decided to act.

And what did he present all of us with? A jewel? A crown? Another forged masterpiece?

Oh, of course not.

An **alphabet**.

It was a fucking brand **_new_** , absolutely brilliant alphabet. One which made his newly piece so unsuitable it bordered on hideous.

…………..

Up to the date, Nolofinwë is sure he had made it on purpose.

* * *

Everything they did, every dance they played /and that he _lost/,_ only make the scab around his chest re-open.

It had never truly worried him, not until Arafinwë was born.

Finarfin had been a lovely baby, from the very beginning (never as much as any of his own children, but close).  

Father _adored_ him. Kept bouncing him up and down, and carried him on his lap at every opportunity he got when his mother wouldn´t be the one tending to him.

As to be expected, his eldest brother fussed like a spoiled cat deprieved of his evening treat. And yet there was no futher animosity, he didn´t seem to hate the youngest as hard as him _/ That´s because he looks more like mother/_

Finarfin had been a lovely baby, and Fingolfin had loved him from the start.

But at the same time, he feared- _that if he didn´t  find his own ability to stand out quickly, he would be **overlooked** soon._

* * *

 

“ What do you think you are doing?!”

His eldest son has grown, not in stature like Turukáno, but in a more important aspect. But he would be lying if he said he hadn´t noticed before.

“Father, please. Tell me I´m mistaken, tell me I´m wrong….Tell me you are not about to do what I think you-“

A pause.

The High King of the Noldor reaches for a sip of wine from his coup, the movement of his long arm slow and pasive.  Some documents, treaties he realizes, lays bare and disorganized on his desk, languidy he proceed to correct that.

“ **FATHER!** \- Please, please would you just _listen_ to me. Come back to your senses!”

…….

_Long ago, he had used the exact same words with his own son. When he had seen the defiance on his eyes- one that no amount of fatherly authority could dream of stopping._

_“I will bring him back” It was a promise._

_…………_

_He had wept them. He cried for his brave, valiant Findékano who had gone alone to his death. He too finally, cried for his people lost in the Ice, and for those they killed and for those who burned. He let the tears fall once for all._

_When his first son, came back. He didn´t just bring back his nephew. The stray, broken son of Fëanor._

_He brought them back ….._ **_hope_ **

* * *

****

“Father, this is   ** _madness_** “ his son begs.

A pause.

The High King of the Noldor finally speaks-

“Whatever happens, don´t follow”

* * *

_“_ **MORGOTH** _! Ó LORD OF THE SLAVES, DARK MATTER OF THE WORLD. WON´T YOU FACE ME NOW AT YOUR OWN GATES? Woud you leave your mindless servants fight your own battles?!”_

_Dark was the stronghold of Angband, and even darker were his enormus gates._

_His horn is shouting. He is alone._

_Alone, and full of fear,  full of **rage**._

_Never had he felt more alive._

_“ **JAIL-CROW OF MANDOS** _ – HE WHO COWERS IN FEAR _\- FACE ME YOU NOW **CRAVEN**!! “_

_But Darkest of them all was the Lord of Angband. He who sunk them all in the dark. He who betrayed, he who violated, he who **murdered**._

_Loud and painful were each one of the Dark One steps on this earth._

_Louder was all his countenance. Pitch black, towering over Nolofinwë like a lone turret._

_On the highest top of the gigant, the purest of lights emanated from a crude iron crown /Feänaro would have loathed it/_

_The contrast from the brightness was so great, he wasn´t able to see the face of Morgoth, and for that, he was grateful, even if only only seeking deep down he would be able to phantom the reason as to why._

_This was it. Time stands still at the iron hill and his moment has come._

_The massive hammer was lifted beyond his vision, and again the world was lightless._

_Brilliant and fierce was the expression of the Noldor King._

_Nolofinwë grinned-_

_And **charged**_

* * *

Under hot warm and sticky sweat that comes with exercise, and the attentive gaze of his teacher a young princeling sparred again a mighty enemy made of straw.

Two strikes and a lateral feint, movements already practised to the point of obsession.

His supervisor, one of the more experienced soldiers of the king´s guard, appears pleased.

“ Good enough your grace, let´s try now the convination we learnt last week yes? Show me your two handed grip on the sword”

He had showed him his two handed grip on the sword five times already.

“ Can´t we try fighting instead? Just a little bit? We can use the wood weapo-

“ **_Phfff “_** An ill intended chuckle cut him off on the spot. One that of course could only belong to one and just one.

But Fingolfin was not a child anymore, and the image of Fëanaro leant back over the balcony, with such overbearingness one would believe he owned the entire garden / Which he did **_not_** / , did not filled his heart with apprehension anymore and so, he stepped into the other´s mind game with elegance.

“ How wonderful it is you decided to honor us with you presence today brother!

 _However_ , would you care to join us as well? Or do you intent to restrict yourself to offer useful advice from the shadows? ”

From his sibling throat came out something rudely similar to a bark- “ _Ha_! I would joing your companion gladly, for I am in need of some sport outwards. But you _however_ , joining **you** wouldn´t be even the tiniest bit of a challenge”

A royal bow gave then, the second son of Finwë. Brown arched in a taunting threat and with a smirk that showed teeth his lips calmy sang right back.

“ Why Fëanaro such confidence, you make me curious! Will you not delight us with your impressive technique? I promise I may even give my best for your sake´s alone!….Or-“

A pause.

“- Are you worried I might strain you?”

The taller elf stood up then, frowning in displeasure. In one gratuful move he jumping more than walking the stone steps of the opened stairs that separate them, the green slighty wrinkled tunic he was wearing almost unable to follow his parade.

Fingolfin hold back the need to laugh out loud.

Without even a word of permission from his teacher, he reached own the discarded wooden swords on the ground and after inspecting it he kept it to himself. Not before throwing another one towards Fingolfin´s face with no warning.

Had the younger not expected something of the sort and reacted fast, it would have hit him full on the nose.

“ Just try not to make a fool of yourself too much _midget_ “

And thus the two sibling started their innocent spar.

And when- by some short of miracle product of hubris, Nolofinwë was able to hit Curufinwë´s making him stumble- then the swords were truly gripped.

It was over in an instant. With Nolofinwë being tossed over the soil dirty faced and utterly disheveld. His brother was not much better, his false weapon sticking into the losers neck.

They stared long and silent into each others, locking eyes , probing and daring one another to make the first move.

Fingolfin could feel the steel of Fëanor face dismembering his soul in little pieces. And he truly looked like he very much wanted to, in that moment. His breath coming out in hard gasp due to exertion, his pupils greatly dilated, and face contracted in a grimace of self-restrain. His own hearth throbbing from an emotion that the younger couldn´t quite understand.

After a second which seemed never-ending. Fëanor swallowed a last breath and without further wording-

Left him there.

 

* * *

_Even the sky seemed to tremble and bend over the strong will of the nightmarish hammer._

_By all account, the small elf should have been smashed by it long ago._

_Yet Fingolfin haven´t been._

_By all accounts, against the mightier of the Valar, the insignificant eldar must have been overwhelmed._

_Yet Fingolfin have not been._

_He was fighting bravest and wildest than neither elf, neither Vala had ever seen. Shining bright as Varda´s stars, his march unyielding, unstoppable._

_Dodging when he must. Striking when he could._

_Three strikes had inflicted the High King upon the Dark Lord already, the pained howls of Morgoth inflicting terror upon those who observed over the safe distance._

_Upon all except for Nolofinwë, for he kept his gaze always looking upwards, and his blade was carrying such a prolongued and deep **hate** , that it couldn´t be pierced._

* * *

Again, in other time, was his brother´s blade poiting at his neck, drawing out blood.

But this time however, it was for another reason entirely. There was no innocent, rivarly spar, no fake weapons.

This sword was very real.

“ See, **_half_** - _brother_!” Curufinwë yelled.

He could feel his brother steel gaze piercing his very soul, wanting to rip it to shards. His pupils were contracted, and his contained breath screamed of _hate_ and _frustration._

“ This is sharper than your tongue. Try but once more to usurp _my_ place or the **_love_** of **MY** father and-“

Nolofinwë didn´t need to listen anymore. His hearth poudding, this time, from an entirely different reason that he could comprehend very well.

He waited until Feänaro was done. And then, without further word, he left.

 

* * *

 _Death_ silent was the study in which the first son of Finwë had locked himself into.

‘Preparations’ had he said before vanishing in there for days, only to be interrupted by his sons´ council.

The echo, the breaking of the stillness Nolofinwë brought with himself the moment he opened the door and get into the room, was almost blasphemous.

Fëanaro said something to him then, a complain most probably. Yet Fingolfin wasn´t able to descipher the sound, the _shout of anguish_ of his brother upon laying his eyes on their father´s broken body still rang far too loud in his ears.

He moved closer until he was right behind his brother´s back, only a step away, so he could take a peek to the papers the other seemed so concentrated into.

Planes, maps. Everything they had been able to obtain about Arda´s terrain in so little time.

“ Would you please leave me _alone_?” came out his voice raspy from lack of use.

Fingolfin took an step back, giving the other more space, but remained, and with a carefully measured tone, spoke.

“ I do not believe it whise for you to remain in isolation anymore brother”

The answer came back fast and bitter-

“ You know little of wisdom” Fëanaro moved his head backwards, but once he briefly got a glimpse of his image he adverted his gaze “ Now leave me alone, _brother_ ”

A pause filled with uncertainly.

“ Fëanaro please stop doing this, it…… It wasn´t your fault”

But some boundaries must never be crossed. And too quick his brother strong hand was enclosing his throat, making his breathing grow thin and his speech choke, for Nolofinwë wasn't able to react on time and make something else than gasp in surprise and aggravation.

“ _Of course It was **NOT**_ ” he raged, arm pressing him close and hands squeezing _harder “Do you dare insinuate otherwise?? **WHOSE** fault was it, ó _ brother in heart _! “_ Yet Feänaro would keep his gaze down, he wouldn´t meet him, and that unerved him more than any of his words could have.

Fingolfin recovered then, and even with little air he was strong enough to fight his brother´s grasp, pushing all of him down and towering over until his attacker's back hit the hard surface of the desk. However there were hands around his neck still.

“ Whose fault indeed brother; for it was the Dark Enemy´s alone” The eyes he was staring so deeply into watered, from either rage, anguish, frustration or shame he didn´t know, yet he wouldn´t meet his gaze. _“ **Neither** yours, **neither** mine!”_

_“ YOU LEFT HIM **ALONE** ” Cried at last, the spirit of fire. Mind lost into nothingness. _

Nolofinwë felt his grip disolve, and his resolve even more so.

“You……you should have been there, with him. You shouldn´t have come for me. You should have been there with  him instead of _ruling o_ n _**his**_ name!…..surely then, _surely_ \- …. _So that he didn´t have to **die**_ **alone** \- ” His speech broke around the end, lips trembling, the hands around his neck shivered.

Fëanaro´s eyes were closed in great pain, he was weeping and was not the only one.

Neither of the two said anything, far too inmersed in their own suffering. Yet, neither of the two moved, and Curufinwë was still laying on the desk surface, half choking the air out of his brother.

It was the second born, who first dared to speak again, voice full of misfortune.

“That is _why_ ……Is that _why_ you won´t look at me on the face brother? Because you think our father´s death was _my_ fault?”

Fëanaro remained silent, yet he wouldn´t look at him, and now Fingolfin grew furious and so, he shook him harshy.

“ Is that why brother?” he shouted “ **Look at me** – _look at **me** Fëanaro_ \- Not at your half-brother. Not at father´s reflection on a mirror but AT **_ME_** ” He stepped closer and closer until his faces where inches apart, so similar yet so different.

_“ LOOK AT ME ON THE FACE AND TELL ME **WHY** CURUFINWË ”_

Neither of the two shall ever know who was the one to iniciate it, who was the one to bring the lastest of the boundaries down.

All Fingolfin knew is that suddenly Fëanaro´s mouth was on his and that he was parting his lips wanting even more. And for once in his life his brother _complied_ and Nolofinwë moaned, unrestrained when he felt inside him a hot tongue.

The hands around his neck that previously had made him feel disconfort and unease were now, arousing and entirely different sentiment on him alltogether. 

For once in his life, the fire which had _always_ burnt him was now so awfully pleasant, he couldn't have enough of it. And judging by the ferverish way in which Curufinwë crawled at his clothes, he must have been feeling something very similar. _/The flames wanted to consume him whole /_

Neither of the two shall ever know how far they would have gone, had not a loud knock on the door from his brother's third born made them froze on the spot.

Fëanaro – _flushered as red as his own wife´s hair_ \- had not blinked away _once_ in the entire time.

* * *

_But even as black, poisonous blood poured out of Morgoth´s wounds. Nolofinwë grew weary._

_This was his time, Fingolfin knew. Yet as he moved out of the hammer´s range, far slower than that he should have, he kept looking upwards following the damned light of the silmarils like a stele._

_And then a bizarre thought occurred to him in that moment_

**_/ Brother, can you see me now?/_ **

* * *

****

From the opposite seashore he could see the flames that licked at the boats, and know then they knew they had been betrayed-

Nolofinwë deceived everyone, even himself, into believing the **cry** that came out of his mouth in that moment was only of rage.

_“What to do? What to do now? “_

_“We are all condemned , **cursed** be the Fëanorians”_

**What have I done?**

_“ We are trapped, there is no way out!”_

**I shouldn´t have listened to you _\- I trusted you_ \- I shouldn´t have followed you.**

“ ** _Father_** ”- Turukáno´s –

“ _What do we do know father_?” – Findekáno-

…..

A pause.

_“ Whatever happens, follow me”_

**_/ I thought you cared /_ **

* * *

****

_This Time, when the mighty shield fell down to crush him. He tried avoiding it again and was not able._

_Still Fingolfin kept looking upwards._

**_/ Can you see me now brother? /_ **

* * *

****

“ Féanaro  _is dead. He was wounded beyond hope by a barlog of Morgoth……And before parting away to Mandos his spirit left his body in as in mass of fire and bright flames_ ”

That is what the Fëanorian´s messenger said, when he demanded an audience as soon as his people, / what was left of them / had established themselves in Middle-Earth.

**_-Fëanaro is dead-_ **

………

**_/ It wasn´t fair /_ **

****

* * *

* * *

Seven wounds had the valiant Fingolfin inflicted upon the Dark Enemy of the World before he fell.

Crushed under the colosal weight of that horrendous shield, feeling his bones and armor crack with each impact.

The monstruous, digusting foot that stepped on him, smeared his face with grime and fresh blood.

**_/ Can you see me now brother?_ Seven _, Seven times I stabbed our enemy, the murderer of our father. Yet you weren´t able to scracth him even_ once _/_**

_Fingolfin , even nearly blind with pain and a hate that seemed to never vanish, still kept looking upwards._

_And he took the grip of his great sword again, and **stabbed** \- And Morgoth cried yet again in even larger pain-  stabbed , stabbed. Cut cursed meat through pain and shouts and the weight of a mountain over him until both he could move no more and he was sure neither that leg would be._

**_/ I loved you/ - / I loathed you /_ **

**_/ Would you look at me now? /_ **

**_......._ **

_The last thing Fingolfin ever saw , was the pityingly shine of the three silmarils from his Enemy´s crown._

_Bright, warm, beautiful and **untouchable** , as Fëanor himself has been._

**_/ Am I……finally worthy enough brother? /_ **

**_-_ **

**_And thus fell, the High King of the Noldor_ **


End file.
